The Good Listener
by Cella N
Summary: My kingdom for a breakaway.” Unfortunately, Sakura’s kingdom isn’t that big, and the breakaway isn’t that eager to help. SAKURA. KIMIMARO. On bookstores, low budgets, secret jobs, chance encounters, and an old lady with really long hair. Who is actually.
1. Chapter 1

**Spoilers:** AU. Heavy on the AU.  
**A/N:** A present to my darling Kris. She made me think about KimiSaku. Also, a most unworthy homage to DeGlace, whose KimiSaku fic, though abandoned, shall always have a spot in history. I know it's AU, but please bear with me. You know I don't disappoint often. Right?

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**The Good Listener**  
_1. The Old Lady, Something Or Other_

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_There has to be more to life than working at a bookstore._

When Sakura had been young, she'd wanted to be a doctor. The building where she'd lived with her parents was ran by an old-but-young-looking woman who had more than enough battle stories to tell, and even from back then, Sakura'd been an avid listener, always eager to learn something new. And even if her parents prohibited Sakura from visiting the elder landlady too often—because she needed rest, and because her apartment smelled like cheap sake—the young girl had always found time, either after school or before, to drop by for a visit.

Tsunade, as the woman was called, had told Sakura gladly about all her life. The pink-haired girl had been, after all, the first person to _really_ want to listen to every damn word coming out of her mouth—including cuss-words, many of which Sakura learned and adopted with the grace of an old sailor. From the many things Sakura'd learned in the apartment which smelled of sake, there were three very important notions which she'd never forgotten.

The first was that she'd always do right in listening to people. Not necessarily believing their stories, because many people lied, or exaggerated, or tried to pull her hair, but just simply listen to what they had to say. And while sometimes her temper got the best of her—or in other words, her fists acted before her ears listened—Sakura'd always listened to people's stories. Because you never knew what new, amazing things you could learn from listening to stories. You never knew what information you could gather from listening in—not to be confused with the term eavesdropping—on this or that talk. With this lesson learned from old Tsunade, Sakura'd grown up to be the best listener in her group of friends. Of course, having everybody dump their troubles on Sakura's shoulders also made her be depressed a lot of the time, or craving for chocolate, or really eager to tell them to _shut the fuck up_, but she never did. Sakura's conflicts were internalized. Mostly. And she was doing a pretty good job as the group's psychiatrist.

The second thing Sakura'd learned from visiting Tsunade's house was that she wanted to be a doctor. The old woman had been a doctor—one of the best in town, surprisingly—years ago. She'd run the principal hospital in their little town at one time, but she had been, primarily, an adventurer. And Tsunade's adventures had taken her to countries from Asia and Africa, countries filled with internal wars, and hate. There, the woman had healed injured villagers, and fed hungry children, and fought alongside the civilians as well, when the situation demanded it. But when she'd returned to her country, her home, her town and her people, she'd found herself alone and plagued with memories and sadness. _If you're gonna be a doctor, girl, don't make the same mistakes I did_, the woman had told Sakura. _You're a good listener, but your heart's to fragile. You're a good girl, and you'll get eaten by the wolves out there if you so much as set a step on that territory. You're too kind for your own good, Sakura. But luckily, you've me here to instruct you._

And the third and last thing Sakura'd learned from visiting Tsunade, the doctor, the warrior woman, her unofficial mentor and for a long time, her only friend, was that you _never_, ever called Tsunade 'old'. Or implied that she was old. There were numerous the times when Sakura'd taken the woman food, or told her to take better care of herself, only to be thrown out of the apartment with screams and instructions to 'never come back again'. Of course, two days later, Sakura always returned. With the food. And with the instructions to take care of herself better. If there was one thing Tsunade had seemed to appreciate in the girl when she'd decided to take her in as her protégé, was that she had guts, determination, and on more than one occasion, she was exactly like Tsunade had been at her age.

Out of these lessons, it was only the second one which Sakura couldn't see fulfilled presently. At twenty-two years, way past the age of ingression in Med School, and with an income five times lower than the school's fee, Sakura was stuck. The only way she could even see the Med School was by inclining her head to the left and looking out the window of the bookstore where she worked. Every day, she watched as the lucky med-students entered the tall, white building, and every day Sakura arrived home after a visit to the bank and an "I'm sorry, miss Haruno, but I'm afraid your bank account has still not improved enough for you to pay for that fee" and a "I'm afraid our bank cannot give you the loan you asked for last month", and of course the ever so sweet "Better luck next time?". Luck? Luck hadn't been on Sakura's side for years. Ever since her parents had died when she'd been barely seventeen, leaving her not only with the feeling that she never really got much of parental affection from her progenitors, but also with their debts and other problems. Of course Tsunade had been there all the time, but even with the woman's help, and a job at a rundown bookstore, Sakura had barely been able to liquidate all of her parents' debt. Never mind going to Medical school.

She never lost hope, though. Each month, she went to her bank as religiously as one went to the city church, and each month she applied all her personal data for a loan. And each month it was denied. Maybe the bank had something against orphans, or maybe they'd just gotten fed up with seeing Sakura's face each day. Or maybe they were just fucking bastards. Tsunade's words.

_Hope or no hope, there still has to be a better thing to life than working at a bookstore_, Sakura thought again, while re-stacking the books on her cart. The place where she worked wasn't all that bad, and Sakura loved the smell of old books and musky paper. But for a young woman with big hopes and goals like she was, it just…lacked a lot of things. It could've worked as a part-time job while she studied medicine, but since the latter part seemed to be eliminated by her low budget, it worked well as a full-time job, too. Working from morning to evening just to win enough money to get by—and maybe put some in her account to let it grow—was okay for a few months. After the first year it got boring. After the second year, it got monotone. And after the third year, it made Sakura want to burn the place down in hopes of _some_ sort of change. Anything.

"My kingdom for an entrance fee to Med-school," she dramatically told the book in her hand before setting it on the shelf under S. "Granted, my kingdom isn't that big. I barely own a potted plant, and the TV. No wait, not even the TV is mine. Gah," she groused to herself, stomping down the aisle, shelving more books here and there where needed. "On second thought, my kingdom for some sort of breakaway from routine would also be nice. Surely that's not much to ask, coming from a person who only owns a potted plant and an empty bank account."

Passing past the aisle holding history books, Sakura ventured into the poetry section. Not many people were ever in this section, basically because they only had a few shelves worth of poetry books, and none of them by known writers. It was a surprise, naturally, to find there was someone in that section. One, because people hardly ever visited it, and two, because she hadn't heard the person come inside. From the back, Sakura thought it was probably an old woman with really long hair—unusual in old ladies nowadays—held by two red bands. A rather youthful look for an old lady, but who was Sakura to judge—with her poorly home-chopped haircut? Slipping into 'oh my, a customer!' mode, Sakura approached the lady.

"May I help you?" she asked, reaching out a hand to tap the lady on the shoulder, just in case they were deaf. Or something.

Seconds before her hand reached the lady's skin, the 'lady' moved her hand quickly—way too quickly for an old lady—catching Sakura's wrist in a tight grip. _What the hell do they feed these old people?!_ The 'lady' moved, just as quick, dragging Sakura forward, spinning her around until she collided face-first into a shelf, and twisted the arm in her grip behind Sakura's back.

"Hey—OW, _LADY_!" Sakura shouted, surprised when her chest smacked into the wooden edge of a shelf. "I was just trying to _help_!" she huffed.

The person holding her captive released her quickly, and Sakura turned around to give the old woman a scolding about 'violence against young people', only to find that the lady was…_bowing_. To her. "My apologies, miss, I meant you no harm. I do not like it when people surprise me from the back, old instincts kick in," the lady said, and the lady had a very _deep_ voice. For an old lady.

"I…okay?" Sakura answered, blinking quickly to assure herself that what she was seeing wasn't a dream. What she was seeing when the lady stood up straight was actually a young _man_, probably not older than Sakura by a few years, tall and lean, and with very, very white hair. The mated, green eyes looking down at her in a dispassionate way also added to Sakura's surprise—and for a moment, the look in her eyes aided to her thought of 'he's not sorry at all'. "I was just asking if you need any help," she said, after a moment of silence in which they both stared at each other—she, with surprise and curiosity, and he, with lack of any real interest, as if he was doing it for the sake of mimicking her actions.

"Not really, thank you. I have found what I needed," he answered in the same, calm, monotone voice while signalling to the book in his hand—the hand that _hadn't_ held Sakura against a painful shelf.

"Would you like to buy that?" she asked.

"Possibly," he answered. His answers were slow, as if he was either too tired to speak, or not really a talker at all.

"What do you mean possibly?" Sakura asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're not going to steal it, are you? Because we have a policy against thieves in this store, you know?"

"Really?" he asked, not at all sounding interested.

"Yeah. We kick their asses before they can get out," she said, standing up straight and puffing her chest out in a way that wouldn't remind him that she'd just basically kicked _her_ ass two minutes before.

Apparently, it wasn't working, from the look he gave her—which was the same look as before, but it still said 'I don't believe you, and if I could, I'd raise an eyebrow to fortify it'. "I shall buy the book," he spoke, and then moved passed without as much as a brush against her. Which gave the man a certain grace, since the aisles were rather narrow, and two people there at once would always brush against each other in one way or the other.

"Right, then. I shall cash it in for you," she mimicked, following him to the register with an amused smile on her lips. She hurried behind the counter, and took the book he'd left on the table. "Oh, Akhmatova! Hardly anyone knows who she is," she acknowledged, running her fingers down the spine of the book.

"Unfortunate of them," he offered, looking down at her from behind the counter.

"Which one is your favourite poem? Personally, I like the one that ends in 'but blood is only blood', though I never could remember the title. She's one of my favourites in the store, you know? She's this talent of pulling threads and metaphors, so delicately and nice. No-one's bought this book, or shown interest in it in the years I've worked here, but you. We should give you a prize," she ranted, wrapping up the book in old leather. A tradition of the bookstore.

"Wild honey has the scent of freedom," he said softly, and if Sakura hadn't read Akhmatova's works, she'd have thought he'd gone mad. She looked up to find his eyes set on her hands, or maybe on the leather, a strange expression in those green orbs.

"Hey," she said, stopping her motions for a while. "Are you okay, mister?"

His eyes snapped back to her face, and he blinked once, slowly. "Why do you ask?" he spoke.

"Well…you looked sad for a minute, there," she said, shifting her weight from one foot to another and hoping to god he wouldn't twist her hand again. She'd left her pepper-spray at home. Not that pepper-spray would work against the likes of him.

"I am fine. The book, please?" he said, startling her out of her reverie.

"Oh, sure. In a second," she answered, smiling in a way that she thought was comforting—or at least warmed the place up a bit. Tsunade had said on one occasion that Sakura's smile warmed up a room. "You know," she said, slowly, as she picked up a leaf of mint and placed it between the first page and the cover. "My friends have always said I'm a good listener." She paused. "I know what you're thinking, you're thinking 'how could this girl be a good listener, if all she does is talk, and talk?'. But I hear sometimes it's better if you talk, even if it's to a stranger. Especially if it's to a stranger. Strangers are better listeners, because they give you the freedom to talk and unwind yourself from all your troubles, and since they're strangers you know you'll never see again, you don't have to worry about them thinking this or that about you. And you go home feeling lighter."

"I am not a big talker," he spoke.

"Oh really? Could've fooled me," she teased, grinning at him.

"Why would you care, if I were not alright?"

She shrugged. "I'm also too kind for my own good. Aside from being a good listener, you know? I've mentioned that, right?"

"You have. My book?" he asked—ordered.

"Here," she handed it to him, taking the money and giving him the change. "So, what do you say?"

"Are you really that interested in what grieves me?" he asked, pausing in front of the counter for a while longer.

"Yes."

"How unfortunate of you," he finished, taking his book and calmly making his way towards the door.

"Wait!" she shouted after him, running from behind the counter. "Can I at least get your name?"

"Why would you need it? We are strangers who shall never meet again," he said, looking at her with a curious look on his face.

"Well, you never know. We might. And I want to have a name to associate with you, so that when I tell my landlady tonight about how I got my ass kicked by what looked like an old lady, I'll refer to you as something other than He."

He blinked, his lidded eyes seeming heavy even to her, and his hand headed for the doorknob. "Kimimaro Kaguya," he said at last, looking as if he'd regretted even giving her that information. "And I doubt we shall meet again," he added, before opening the door.

"Oh, well. My name's Sakura," she said towards his back.

"I know," he answered.

"What, you read minds?" she asked with an incredulous tone.

"No," he answered. "It's written on your nametag." And without as much as a glance behind him, the man left the bookstore, his newly purchased book under his arm, leaving a gaping Sakura behind him.

"Oh," she said to the wooden door. "Written on my nametag. Well of course. Duh, Sakura." Moving back to her previous job of re-shelving the books, Sakura couldn't help but let her mind dwindle on the mysterious man—_Kimimaro_.

"When I asked for a breakaway," she told a small book in her hand, "I wasn't referring exactly to this. But I guess it works, for today. After all, we're not going to see each other again, anyway." 


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Very late with the update thingy. Unfortunately, my muse abandoned me for a little while, but seeing as this is a short mini-series, I intend on finishing it! Seriously! Also, expect more cameos from other people, even if they'll be short, and barely noticeable. This is a story about Kimimaro and Sakura, after all.

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**The Good Listener**  
_2. The Little Pink Restaurant_

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There was absolutely nothing more pathetic to life than having dinner alone, except perhaps having dinner alone, at a restaurant reserved for couples.

The fourteenth of February, a date reserved for young—and old—couples in the world to give each other clichéd presents, postcards, and present the world with an image of Perfect Love, was also a day which Sakura had learned to abhor with all her biological heart. You know, the heart that was the shape of those circulatory organs in her biology books, instead of those paper hearts decorating the library she worked at. The fact that even her work-place, her temporary sanctuary, her escape from the world and her means of gathering up money for her Med school, had taken the look of a sugar-coated world of love and emotions made her sick.

To add more pain to her misery, all her friends had someone to celebrate this day with. Each of them had their boyfriends, or girlfriends, or occasional-lover-slash-rivals with whom to exchanged lovey-dovey looks in this fatuous day. Meanwhile, Sakura had no-one. Her parents were too occupied with each other to really give a damn about Sakura's depression, and even Tsunade had an old friend coming by for a few drinks. The thought of Tsunade having a lover made Sakura shudder slightly, even if she knew the lady would probably only spend the night drinking with her old friend and telling stories about their time in the wars. Or whatever. Like Sakura cared that everyone had a date except for her.

In an act of defiance to humanity, she decided to go out on Valentine's day _alone_, and eat something really good at the local posh restaurant. Sure, her budget didn't afford dinning there, but at least once a year, a girl could make exceptions. She'd also hoped that some charming young man would be just as lonely, and in an act of rarely seen romanticism, invite her for lunch the following day. After promising her the world, the moon and everlasting love.

Sakura looked at her fish-knife, idly contemplating suicide.

At least it would get her on front page. _Twenty-two year old depressed woman takes her life on Valentine's Day. Yet another random victim of love._ So maybe she would never make a good journalist, and her headline-creating skills were nill, but at least she knew that by suiciding herself she'd be more famous that she'd been so far. Haruno Sakura. Famous for a messy seppuku in the middle of dinner. Not for the cure to cancer. Or ending world hunger.

"My life officially sucks," she muttered to herself, stabbing the fish on her plate viciously, and earning herself a few odd looks from the other patrons.

"Would you like fries with that?" a feminine voice asked from somewhere above her.

Sakura looked up from her depressing food to find a depressingly pretty woman looking down at her, sculpted eyebrow raised in amusement. She looked like the latest front page of Vogue. Red hair, smart face, black eyes, and very refined glasses…and a waitress uniform. _See, this isn't fair. The pretty ones, the good girls always end up in shitty jobs._ Still, the waitress in question probably had a boyfriend, unlike Sakura. She'd probably see him after work, and then they'd go home, open up a bottle of wine, and—

"Are you okay?" the waitress asked again. "You look like you're going to stab yourself in the eye with that knife, and trust me when I say that it's not sharp enough."

Sakura let out a slight whine, and looked at her temporary companion with a pitiful look in her eyes. "Do I look ugly?"

"...will my answer influence in me being fired or not?"

"That's a yes, isn't it?" Sakura blurted out, rubbing at her temples with frustration. "I'm such a moron, coming here on the 14th, I mean, what, did I expect that guys would instantly start standing in line at my table?"

"I'd suggest more cleavage," the waitress said, smirking slightly. If Sakura hadn't started to like her, she'd have pummelled her to the ground, just a bit. "And dessert. We have an exquisite chocolate soufflé."

"I'll take two of those," the pink-haired girl said, waving her arm with no passion. "Am I the only one here who dislikes this day?"

"Honey, you're in the most romantic restaurant in town, on Valentine's Day. Look around you. What do you think?" was the woman's answer.

"I'll take it as a yes."

The waitress shrugged, noting down Sakura's order on a notepad. "Well, I don't know. I think it's cliché, but they pay me to show a smile, and on the good side, I have someone with whom to bash this day when I get home. But I'm sure you're not the only one here who hates it. Kimimaro doesn't like the day either…then again, he hates all days, so what do I know?"

Sakura's stance straightened a bit, her eyes perking up at the sound of a familiar name. "Did you say Kimimaro?" she asked the waitress.

"Yeah, he sits over there," the woman said, pointing towards a darkened corner, where a feminine looking man with the whitest hair Sakura'd ever seen, was eating. Probably fish. "Real regular, he is. But then again, considering who his boss is, I'm not surprised," the waitress continued.

Sakura wasn't really listening, more interested in observing the man at the table far away. Three months had passed since she'd seen him in her restaurant. She'd started to really believe he wouldn't show up again, which had saddened her, because he'd looked exactly like the sort of tormented soul that Sakura'd always take pity on and try to fix. She'd hoped, after meeting him the first time, that he'd be her breakaway from routine. As it turned out, her breakaway wasn't too eager to help her break away. The three months of not showing his face in the small library proved that.

Somewhere in the middle of her inner monologues, the waitress had left to get Sakura her dessert, leaving her alone and watching the handsome, mysterious man. She knew that probably everyone in the place was used to seeing girls fawn over the guy. He was, after all, gorgeous. In that detached, uninterested, androgynous looking Hugo Boss model. But Sakura's interest was piqued for many different reasons. For one, she wanted to know if he'd liked the book he'd bought—and if so, why hadn't he visited the library again?—and also, to find out if he was still troubled. _Your kindness is going to get you in trouble, Sakura._ As she thought this, she began tying up a white napkin to her knife, and rising from the table.

When she reached his table, she waved the napkin in front of his face, as a white flag. "Hello, old lady," she greeted.

Kimimaro raised his droopy eyes from his food, stopping over the napkin, then to Sakura's face. She gave him a small smile. He raised an eyebrow. "The librarian."

"Well, I'm glad we've both acquired such ambiguous names," Sakura answered.

"What are you doing?"

"Waving a white flag. The last time I greeted you, you slammed me into a shelf, and I ended up with three bruises scattered on my body," Sakura explained, now standing near him, flag dropped to her sides.

"You'd startled me, and I apologized."

"I know, I know," Sakura said, waving her hand dismissively. "So, which hand of fate has brought us together in the same place again, Kaguya-san?"

"Fate? I hardly call this the hands of fate."

"What would you call it, then?"

"Misfortune."

"That stung," Sakura said, flatly. "Really stung. May I sit down?" she asked, pointing to the empty chair across from him.

"Why would you want to do that?" he asked, looking as disinterested as always.

"Because we're both lonely, and alone, we both dislike this day, because we could use some company, and because I just ordered two chocolate soufflés, and you're going to eat one. Because fish is boring."

"Take a seat," he said, although it seemed as if he would've given her a diamond, if only to make her shut up.

"Thank you," she said, taking a seat. "So, how have you been these three months, Kaguya-san?"

"Working."

"Coincidentally, so have I! Did you read the book you bought?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Did you like it?" she insisted.

"Yes."

"You're not very communicative, aren't you?" she asked.

"You're supposed to be a listener rather than a talker," he refuted.

"Touché. But how can I be a good listener if you don't speak?" Sakura attacked, smiling slightly. "Am I bothering you?"

"I was not doing anything special, if that's what you are asking."

"Because I wouldn't want to bother you. I mean, I'm a good psychologist, but I don't like being a bother to people, so if you want, I'll leave. I just wanted to say hello and show you that it was a good thing you told me your name that day, because see? We've met again."

He looked at her with apathetic eyes, before his gaze fell on her hands, following their moves as she fiddled nervously with her napkin. "Stay," he said. Or maybe ordered, it was hard to tell.

"Really? Thanks," she said, surprised he was being actually a bit sociable and all. "So, aside from work, have you been better?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, blinking sleepily, slowly.

"I mean, if you're still sad. Like that day. At the bookstore. When I offered to listen but you declined politely."

"I've been better," he answered, vaguely.

"…the offer is still open, just so you know. I know you'll never believe me, but I _am_ a good listener."

"I don't find it hard to believe, however lacking of proof the statement is," he acknowledged, his lips quirking up slightly.

He was amused. That was good. She was amusing him on this depressing day. Suddenly, Valentine's Day stopped sucking, if only for a while. Five minutes later, Sakura was still talking and trying to get Kimimaro to talk—while he watched her with a mixture of boredom, amusement and amazement—when Karin, the waitress from before, arrived with Sakura's desserts. After a blithe exchange of words from Karin to Kimimaro, the woman left them alone. Sakura, on the other hand, was curious.

"Who's Orochimaru?" she asked, picking up a spoonful of her dessert, and passing the other soufflé to Kimimaro.

"Pardon?" he asked.

"Don't act dumb, Kaguya-san," Sakura drawled. "I heard you and Karin mention Orochimaru…who's he?"

"Eavesdropping is not polite," he answered.

"You realize it doesn't qualify as eavesdropping, seeing as how I was sitting right here. Not my fault you two decided to talk as if I wasn't alive."

"He is my employer," he answered, with the tone of voice that one uses when one says 'he's my angel, my salvation'. It scared Sakura, if only a little.

"What do you do?" she asked.

"Whatever he asks me to do."

"That's creepy. What does it mean?"

"What do you think I do, Sakura?" he asked, rising those opaque green eyes to meet hers.

"It's a tie between mobster and mercenary," she answered, truthfully. What, they'd shared dessert and talked about poetry. They were practically best friends now. Or something.

"I see," he said, then took a bite from his dessert.

"You're not going to tell me you're not one?" she questioned, surprised.

"Something tells me that not knowing what I do for a living will be something you'd like better than for me to ruin your dreams and tell you my real job," he answered. At her expression, he shrugged slowly, and said: "I'm a good observer, just as you're a good listener."

"Well…okay, I'll give you ten points for managing to capture my attention, and the whole mysterious veil surrounding you is very intriguing and all, but…why not tell me? Even if you are a mobster or a mercenary, it's not like I can tell anyone, seeing as you have much bigger abilities to kick my ass. And if you are such a person, shouldn't you do your best to deny it? I mean, secrecy and all that junk?"

"You think I am a dangerous man," he stated.

"More or less."

"You're right," he murmured, gaze holding hers. A wave of seriousness passed over them both, and Sakura shivered a bit. "I would be a fool to let you think differently," he continued, lowering his gaze, once again looking sad.

Sakura's gaze softened slightly, and she moved her hand, placing it on the table, only inches away from his own. "You don't look dangerous. I'm sure you're a very nice guy, underneath it all. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here. I won't question you on your job anymore, if it bothers you."

His fingers twitched slightly, his pointer finger brushing over hers. They both shivered, synchronized, and both retired their hands and looked away, at the same time. "I am merely a servant, Sakura-san," he explained quietly. "I do my job, like you do yours. There is nothing dishonest in that." A moment of silence passed, only the noise of the restaurant's other patrons was alive between them. Sakura nodded slowly, admitting silently, that he had a point. Deep down, she hoped he wasn't a mobster. She was starting to like him. And even though Tsunade and her friends had repeatedly told her that she always was attracted to the most dangerous of men, she hoped, really hoped, that Kimimaro would be an exception.

Because she was frankly sick and tired of getting her heart broken. And because he didn't look like a heart-breaker as much as a heart-_crusher_. "The soufflé is really good," she observed quietly, trying to change the subject.

It seemed to tranquilize him slightly. "The chef is a friend of mine, if you want to take some home."

"Oh, no, I don't have enough money to pay for another plate," she said, smiling slightly.

"For free, then."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Yes," he answered, looking amused. "Should I not?"

"No, no, it's just…weird, seeing you make a joke. But a good sort of weird."

"Hmm." The silence reigned the remainder of their meal, which ended quite quickly. Once it was over, Sakura paid for her food, and he paid for his; insisting on accompanying to at least the door of her car. Sakura thanked the gods she had a car, because at least this way, she had an excuse to spend a little bit more time with the man. Granted, it wasn't her car, she'd borrowed it from Ino, but still. Who cared.

The night was cold, and she tightened the scarf around her neck, as she asked: "Will we meet again?"

He watched her attentively, his eyes on her hands as she unlocked the car. "Fate will decide. Who knows?"

"Hmph, fate," Sakura bristled, opening the door to the car. "I'll fight fate again, you'll see. Till the next time, Kimimaro-san."

He didn't speak, raising a hand to run his fingers through her snow-covered pink hair. She shivered. He did, too. "Till the next time," he answered, and with a last polite bow, he turned around, and left.

Sakura got inside the car, turned on the engine, waiting for it to heat up, and reconsidered her night. Well…if he was her breakaway, at least he was starting to co-operate, a bit. That was a good start. 


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I GOT THE MUSE BACK! And it's all thanks to DeGlace. Did you people know she updated Marrow again? After so long. I'm deliriously happy. Everyone should go read it. As usual, this is still homage to you, DeGlace. Spreading the KimiSaku love, one AU at a time!

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**The Good Listener**  
_3. Tables In Dark Corners_

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It was her twenty-third birthday, and even though Ino had insisted on hosting a party at the newest club in town, Sakura wanted nothing more than to be back home with a nice book—maybe Akhmatova again—and no reminders of how she was getting older and lonelier each year. It wasn't that she didn't have friends. Oh no, the fact that half the club was filled by people she knew proved that Sakura was indeed, popular. She knew why they were here, though. All the people she'd met, she'd befriended after listening to them. All her friends were her patients, and she was their psychiatrist. And while sometimes she took pride in her ability, she wondered vaguely when someone would listen to _her_, for a change.

"Remind me again why you picked this club?" she asked Ino over the deafening sound of pop music.

"It's neat! And it's full of gorgeous boys!" her loud friend answered, giving Sakura a grin that meant I-brought-you-here-in-hopes-of-you-finding-a-damn-man-at-last!

"No," was her immediate answer.

"Oh come on, Sakura. You need to get your freak on with someone! It's been, what, two years since you broke up with—"

"We shall not mention that name!"

Ino gave a petulant sigh. "I find it childish that you are afraid of his _name_. So he screwed you over something fierce, but at least you experienced love, right?"

"The only thing I experienced with him was how to interpret his numerous and varied dotting at me. It wasn't a good relationship, Ino. I wouldn't have broken up with him if it had been."

"At least the sex was good, right?"

"I can't believe you're asking that." She glared at her friend and turned her head sideways to look at the dance floor. "If you wanna know, test him yourself. I hear he's popular with the ladies. Never settles with one."

"I bet he's waiting for you, Sakura. Yearning to sleep next to your warm body again, yearning your touch—"

"Ino," Sakura interrupted with a sigh, "We know it's not true. He never made one move to prove he wanted me back. I had fun with him, or at least, we had some good moments. He didn't treat me badly, per se, he just…he just didn't take notice of me after the first time we did it. It was as if I'd lost the charm for him. Personally, I prefer it that way. You've no idea how exhausting it is to try and keep a man's interest so long."

Ino nodded, looking at her with apprehension. "So…you never want to see him again?"

Sakura gave a soft snort, and shrugged. "Like I could help it. He's Naruto's best friend, _still_, so I bump into him occasionally. But I don't want to see him today."

Her friend deflated immediately. "Oh," she said, and that was a sign of trouble.

Sakura's eyes narrowed as she looked at Ino. "What did you do?"

"Um…"

"You _invited_ him here, didn't you?" she accused, already gathering up her things.

"Sakura, he probably won't even come!"

"I'm not taking risks this time. Remember when we met him at Naruto's birthday party? He got tipsy and tried to get me in bed all night, whispered all those things I'd wanted to hear from him, and then when I said no, he went cold again. I don't need to see the man whom I gave my heart to and be reminded that he only wanted me for what's in my pants. If he comes, throw him out. I'll go to the coffee-shop across the street. It looks more comfortable than this."

"But your guests," Ino protested.

Sakura looked down at her with a bitter smile. "Please…as if they would even realise I'm gone." She sighed. Just because she wanted to avoid a certain person, didn't mean she wanted to hurt Ino's feelings. The girl had actually organized a birthday party for her, even if it was an excuse to go all out and dance the night away for most people. She still was grateful, so she bent down and pressed two kisses on each of Ino's cheeks. "I'm sorry, but I just…you understand, right?"

The blonde pouted, and then sighed. "Yeah, I guess…Look, I just wanted you to have fun on your birthday."

Sakura smiled. "I know. I'm having fun, trust me. I just need a breather. I'll be back in a couple of hours, probably. Or maybe even less."

"Okay, fine. Go. Have fun with your coffee…" her friend ordered, waving an elegant hand dismissively.

"Tea, in any case. But yeah, bye bye," Sakura said, and without further ado, she left the club. Swam through sea of people dancing, and didn't breathe until she was out in the street.

As she made her way across the street to the coffee-shop, she wrapped her jacket around her shoulders, and tried hard not to remember. The only boyfriend she'd ever had hadn't even been interested in being listened to, let alone listening to her. Back then, Sakura had thought she could change him; she could soften him a bit, if she tried really hard. She'd learned the hard way that it only worked in fairytales. After he had left, months after that hurtful break-up, she'd decided that she was too busy for boyfriends and romance. She had to study, she had to get into med-school, she had her part-time job, and she was building herself a future. Maybe once her future was built, she could focus on love.

But that was stupid now, because her future as a medic seemed further and further away, thanks to the high entrance fees. "Their loss. A great medic they'd be getting, if they weren't so damn mean," she grumbled, pushing the door to the shop open.

The smell of coffee and the warmth of a good air conditioning system immediately enveloped her. The moment a door bell tinkled above her head, she knew she'd done a good thing coming here. It was better than the club, no matter what everyone else thought. She took a seat at the table and ordered a cup of green tea, resting her back against the comfortable armchair she was sat in.

Much better. Her eyes fell on the world outside that coffee shop for a moment, all memories of her failed relationship swirling around her. Deciding her birthday was neither time nor place to get depressed again, she shook her head and looked away from the window. Curious, she looked around the coffee shop, surprised to see more than five patrons filling tables here and there. Huh. Who knew so many people drank coffee at eleven at night?

Her tea arrived, and she thanked the waiter before taking a sip. She'd had better tea than that one in her life, but at least the atmosphere made up for it. She could feel every muscle in her body relax, all thoughts turning into happy thoughts. She thought about how tomorrow she'd unwrap the presents. She thought about the dinner Tsunade had promised her. About the bookstore waiting for her, constant and musty as always. She thought about the university, still there across the street, still mocking her with its big white walls. She even found herself thinking about some of the clients that made working at the bookstore worthwhile. All the good times she'd spent there in the last years. "Guess it's not _that_ bad. It's monotonous and constant, but at least this relationship isn't weighting down on me. And the books don't want me for what's inside my pants," she mused to herself, amused by her conclusion.

So she was twenty-three. Big deal. There was nothing wrong with being twenty-three and single. Almost half of the protagonists of romance books were single and over twenty-five. "Oh god. I'm comparing my life with a romance novel," she bemoaned, pressing her forehead to the Formica table. "That's it, I really _am_ pathetic. Where's my damn breakaway now?"

She sat and waited for an answer from the gods, but nothing arrived. Go figure. Of course they wouldn't send someone her way the moment she begged for an escape. What had she been expecting? _I'm expecting a tall, elegant and detached young man, with too long, too silky, too white hair, and droopy green eyes to sit in front of me and smile just slightly when I amuse him._ Obviously, though, she wasn't going to get it that night. With a sigh, she fished for a few coins in her pocket and placed them on the table, the price of her tea, then sat up and walked to the door. It was useless to sit here and not have fun and wait for someone to come whisk her off her feet. That only happened in the movies. And the books. And those shoujo manga. And maybe if your name was Hinata. But definitely not in her life.

The wind ruffled her hair as soon as she left the shop, and crossing the street was impossible without getting hit by a car. The weather was against her. Her hair was against her. Ino was against her—what sort of friend invited her best friend's ex to her best friend's birthday party?! The gods were against her. The city traffic was against her. Even her damn dress was against her, what with its raising and ruffling up in the wind. She held her skirt down, opting for having her hair ruffled than showing the whole world the colour of her panties. "Thank you, weather!" she shouted at the sky, and stomped one foot to the ground.

"Each time I see you, you've grown crazier," came a voice from her left. It was a familiar voice. It was the only voice Sakura didn't want to hear. At all. Ever. Especially not that night.

"…Sasuke," she greeted, trying her best to turn that glare into a smile. "Why are you here?"

"I was invited to a party. Yours, I believe?" was the monotonous answer.

"You _believe_?! Look here, jerk, if you've come to ruin my day—er, night, I'll-" She stopped her tirade, because when she'd turned around to snap at the man who was responsible for part of her misery, she found he wasn't alone. Only this time, instead of a tall woman, she found a tall man. With long, white hair. Looking at her from behind droopy eyes. Green eyes. Sakura's insides did a joyous jump, and she gaped.

"Kaguya-san?" she asked, resisting the urge to point at him childishly. "What are you doing here?"

"He's my bodyguard," Sasuke answered. Sakura ignored him.

"_That_'s your employer?" she asked, pointing at Sasuke like one points at the stone in one's shoe.

"He is my employer's protégé," answered Kimimaro, with the same elegant tone, the same lack of empathy. Sakura wanted to kiss him for being there. She also wanted to kiss the gods, the weather, and all those romance books and movies and shoujo manga. And Hinata, too.

But then she realised something else. Something more important. "You work for Orochimaru, don't you?"

Green eyes closed slowly in a blink. That blink translated into interest. Or at least that's what Sakura decided it translated into. "You know who Orochimaru-sama is?"

"Pshyeah, who wouldn't? Other than the fact that he owns Sound Inc., he worked with my mentor in their youth. She tells me a lot about him." Nothing of it good, though. She'd always thought Orochimaru must've been a bastard, and all his employees must've been cut after the same pattern, because after all, Sasuke worked for him, right? But…Kimimaro wasn't a bastard. Not really. Or maybe not to her.

"Your mentor?" the man asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Her name's Tsunade. I never told you about that, did I? Would you like to hear it?" There was a deafening silent pause. Sakura recovered remarkably. "Of course you would," she said, and wrapped one hand around Kimimaro's left wrist. "Help me cross the street and find a free table at my birthday party and I'll tell you all about it."

"Excuse me," Sasuke interrupted.

Sakura looked back at him. "Oh, right. You're not invited anymore, Uchiha."

Sasuke's lips raised in what would be a sneer, if he were capable of emotions. "Then he's coming back with me. He's my bodyguard."

"You can take care of yourself, you're a big boy," Sakura answered him, condescendingly.

"Haruno-san, I'm afraid that I must go where Uchiha-san goes," Kimimaro interrupted softly.

She sighed, and waved her hand dismissively. "Fine, you can come too, Uchiha. But stay away from the booze. If you do the same like the last time, I'll dunk your head in a toilet."

From there, crossing the street, finding a free table, and getting rid of Sasuke's presence took only a couple of minutes. Or maybe it took more time, but Sakura was too focused on liking the feel of her hand wrapped around Kimimaro's thin wrist to notice. She didn't even notice Sasuke's narrowed eyes, nor his scowl—neither would she have _cared_, because when had he cared? In fact, a lot of things escaped her knowledge that night, in those few minutes it took for her to drag a reluctant Kimimaro to a table.

"Would you like something to drink? My treat," she said, shifting a bit in the modern chair until she was comfortable.

"No, thank you. I shouldn't drink on the job," he answered, sitting down and looking comfortable at once. Or at least elegant. Which wasn't fair to the rest of the world, really.

"So…is this what you work as? A bodyguard?" she asked after a short pause in which a glass of some fruity cocktail appeared in front of her.

"Among other things, yes," he answered with a nod, and accepted the glass of water the waitress placed in front of him.

"A month ago you gave me the impression you were a dangerous man."

"I still am," he calmly retorted, choosing that moment to look up into her eyes. It was then that Sakura realised he was probably right. He looked dangerous. But not dangerous to her.

"I'm not scared of you," she simply stated, straightening her shoulders as she took a sip from her drink.

"That is…enlightening."

Head tilted to the side, Sakura raised an eyebrow and asked: "Oh? What do you mean?"

His eyes dropped briefly to her hands, wrapped around the tall glass, before lifting back to her face. "I mean, it is a change. I've never met a person not to be afraid of me, or at the very least, wary."

Sakura held back the urge to puff her chest out in pride. "I'm just the special, then."

A small, amused smile settled on the man's lips, just like those he showed her in the restaurant a month ago. "Yes, one of a kind. A one of a kind fool."

"Hey!"

"Why have you invited me to your birthday party, Haruno-san, if we barely know each other?"

"Because I like you."

His eyes narrowed slightly, almost imperceptible. "What sort of—"

"Like? Hmm," she started, "I couldn't summarize it in one word. You're…the mysterious old lady that turns out to be a tall man with a lot of strength. You like the same poetry I do, you don't laugh at me, but rather with me, if you ever laugh that is…you're sweet—no, don't look surprised! I think you're sweet, okay? You _listen_ to me, which is more than I can say about some friends. You've got this incredible _softness_, despite all. And no matter how hard you try to warn me that you're dangerous, I think you're an honest man, just for the fact that you warned me."

He was looking at her with curiosity, his lips settled in a minuscule smile. "You're a good observer as well?"

Sakura grinned, nodding. "You'd be surprised how many theories I've got about you already."

"We've only seen each other twice," he said, his eyebrows rising.

"My mind works quickly. Would you like to hear them?"

He waved a dismissive hand, and leaned his back against the chair. "It's your birthday."

"I'll take that as a yes," she concluded, amused. "Let's see, I think you're an orphan. Your parents mustn't have treated you very well, or they died when you were still young, because a person whose childhood wasn't devoid of human affection tends to cling onto the first person who offers him that. And the way you spoke about Orochimaru only hints that your childhood was…probably not the greatest. Of course, this is only a theory," she rushed to say, lowering her gaze to her drink. "I believe you're a kind spirit, but you're lost amid a world of violence, loyalty and duty. You probably do dirty work aside from being a bodyguard. I think you'd give your life for your employer…not so much for Sasuke, though. So that means you're selective of the people you protect, and protective of the people you select. You're a loner and don't enjoy company, simply because you're not used to what it implies. You can, however, talk and keep a more than decent conversation, if needed. Despite trying to be cold and detached, you're a softie underneath, probably liking something feminine…like flowers, or…love poems, who knows."

She didn't look up after concluding, but she heard his voice over the music. It was hoarse and low. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, I also know for a fact that you liked that chocolate soufflé," she answered, smiling to lighten the mood. Then she looked up, and gasped slightly. He was staring at her, his eyes more intense than she'd ever seen them, his expression surprised. Not amused, not curious, but stunned. There was no trace of a smile. For one instant, Sakura was afraid she'd screwed everything up. "Um…"

"Anything else?" he asked, his voice but a whisper, eyes unmoving.

She almost broke off into a sweat. Obviously, she'd screwed things up big time. "I…I need to—bathroom. Yeah. I'll be right back," she excused herself hastily, standing up and rushing to the bathroom as fast as humanly possible.

There was no line, luckily, as the gods were, for once, with her on this one. She snuck inside the unisex bathroom, locked the door behind her and proceeded to hit her forehead against the wall.

"The one breakaway I find, and I let my big mouth ruin it," she bemoaned. It was true. It had to be true. She'd probably shocked him with what had to be the worse analysis of his persona ever. And he hated her now. He hated her, and maybe he'd kill her with his mobster ways. She was doomed. "Doomed to a life of celibacy, doomed to boredom, and monotony, and doomed to never be a doctor," she grumbled. In conclusion, she'd screwed up.

And what made it worse was the fact that she'd had an epiphany when they'd been crossing the street. For the first time in years, and even with her ex-boyfriend walking behind her, Sakura entertained the possibility of re-entering the dating scene. For the first time in years, Sakura's mind took a break from medicine-work-medicine-work routine, and considered actually _liking_ someone. And that someone had been the person whose hand she held. The person for whom she'd bought a chocolate soufflé, the person who'd slammed her into a bookshelf. She liked him, really liked him. Romantically liked him. Liked him as in she wouldn't have minded dating him, and then some. He was handsome, elegant, he had good taste in literature, and she could talk to him. Really talk. Even when he didn't say much, she knew he'd enjoyed the conversation. He just wasn't used to the company.

Only it wasn't that, since she'd obviously mistaken that part of the analysis, and he was probably very tired of hearing her, and had been listening just because it was her birthday. Great. The first man she'd liked in years, and she'd screwed it up before it began.

With a last groan, she decided hitting her head against the wall wouldn't heal her verbosity, so she reluctantly pulled away. She turned to the mirror, and frowned. Either way, even if she did like him, he wouldn't like her back. Her hair colour was too rebel-like and exotic, unrefined, like her. It was her birthday and she'd still forgotten to put on any sort of make up. Her skin was pale, and the simple jeans and white t-shirt wasn't at all elegant, or sophisticated. A man like him would never be interested.

She spent two minutes trying to pull her hair together in a chic hairdo before realising what she was doing and glaring at herself in the mirror. This was not the time, and he was not the person to lose her morals and composure for. While washing her hands and her face, she decided it was okay. She'd find some other man to like. Eventually. And maybe he didn't hate her _that_ much.

When she pulled the door to the bathroom open, she was surprised to find him behind it, looking as intensely as before at her. "Wha—"

He pushed her gently back inside the bathroom, spun her around until her back was pressed against the door, and locked it behind her. _Oh God, he's going to kill me here,_ she thought with despair. She'd forgotten to write her will. Naruto'd probably take her stereo, damn him. And she'd forgotten to pay the gas. And Tsunade would kill her! The old woman had warned her about her kindness being her ruin, and she'd been right. Damn her too. And damn the romance books. There was only one way out of this. Grovelling. "Look, Kaguya-san, I—"

"Quiet," he ordered, his voice low as his hands settled on her shoulders. "My parents died when I was fifteen."

_Oh God, he's going to tell me I was wrong and _then_ kill me! Like torture, but worse._ "O-okay…"

"They did not love me. My father made it perfectly clear that he didn't want a sick child like myself to be the heir of his family. I have always been a rather sickly person, as I'd developed post-natal asthma. The fact that I looked like a skeleton half the time didn't please my father. My mother lost patience soon after the fourth time a flu almost killed me. I'd been five. When he saw I kept holding on to life, father decided I was, maybe, a bit worthy, so he enrolled me in a strict military school. I was to be a soldier and serve the country, as I could not serve my family. When I was ten, my mother gave birth to another child, another boy. I never got to know him. They wouldn't let me near him, in fear that my disease could be contagious. When I was fifteen, my parents and my brother took a trip to Kyoto. Their plane crashed, and I've been alone in this world ever since."

She felt like crying. She also felt like smacking his parents for being a couple of downright jerks. Still, she listened.

"I wondered around, picking menial jobs here and there, getting by as best as I could. The social centre that took me in had a karate club, and I joined it. It was there that Orochimaru-sama discovered me, and I caught his interest. He took me under his wing, trained me, and in exchange, I owe him my life. Serving him is, was, the only thing I've known so far. I do not care about companionship, because I don't know how to act towards it. I am not soft underneath, Haruno-san. I'm simply not used to being anything else but a tool, and it's a role I've accepted."

His voice was calm. Almost soft. She'd been right in most of the things. He wasn't going to kill her. Yet his expression was still intense. "A-anything else?" she asked.

"No-one has ever realised so many things about me in such a short time. You really do have a gift," he said, and finally, there was that small smile.

She smiled back, tentatively, shakily. "Anything else?"

"Yes. My first friend was a flower. I only like Akhmatova's poetry. I prefer apple pies," he enumerated, leaning down towards her. "And I'm going to kiss you, if you allow it."

Her insides jumped of joy, her brain did a dance, and her biological clock cheered something like _NOT DOOMED TO CELIBACY, YAY!_ Raising her head to meet him half-way, her mouth pulled up into a smile, she answered, "I allow it." Encourage it, even, she'd have liked to say, but his mouth covered her almost instantly.

She vaguely wondered if this would be his first kiss. Improbable. No-one kissed this well the first time. His lips were warm and tasted of skin, water, and something minty and fresh. His hands slid up her shoulders, past her neck to settle over her cheeks, cupping her face and pulling her closer. She parted her lips, and gave into what was, most likely, the best kiss in years, if not her life. Her hands rose to tangle in his long hair, loving the fact that it was as soft as it had looked. That made him inhale sharply against her mouth, his lips parted, and from there on, things got out of control. She pressed herself closer, he parted her lips with a determined swipe of tongue, she opened her mouth and granted him access, moaning softly when the kiss took a more passionate, intense turn. Hands travelled, lips kissed, teeth nibbled and pulled, tongue licked, tasted, breaths came out in heavy pants.

After a long while, or a short while, he decided oxygen was in order, and she was grateful when he pulled away to let her breathe, but at the same time, sad at the loss of his mouth. They stared at each other for a while, faces flushed and lips swollen. Then, with a calculated slowness, he extracted his hand from under her shirt, and she detangled her fingers from his hair, and he took his knee away from between her parted legs, and she coughed discretely while rearranging her shirt.

Once their appearances were back to normal, she ventured a smile in his direction, pleased when he smiled back. Then she opened the door to the bathroom, and they both stepped out. Sakura blushed furiously, skirting around the people forming a line in front of the door and trying hard to pretend she hadn't just stepped out of a bathroom with a man, looking thoroughly kissed. Kimimaro, it seemed, was unaffected by the group of strangers and their stares.

Back at the table, Sakura asked for another drink, and Kimimaro ordered himself another glass of water. They were silent until the drinks arrived. In the background, Sakura thought she'd seen Ino and Sasuke dancing together. She couldn't have cared less, really. It was high time she thought of herself, and her needs. And her needs were all presently focused around the man sitting across from her at a table.

"So," she started, smiling slightly as she felt her sense of humour return after the first sip. "A kiss after our second date, huh? Not bad at all."

He tilted his head slightly, considering her words, before smirking. Or at least she thought it was a smirk. "I would hardly call our chance encounters 'dates'."

"They're not fate, I'll tell you that," she admonished, wagging her finger at him.

He caught her finger, and wrapped both hands around her small hand, looking at her with surprising honesty. "I would like to take you on a proper date, if you allow it."

Sakura grinned. _YES! DATING SCENE, HERE I COME!_ "I would like that."

"I am still a dangerous man, though."

"I know."

"I might hurt you."

"Physically or mentally? Because I don't care, really."

"You're a true fool."

"I know that, too. Now say something I don't know," she retorted, grinning.

"I am…truly not used to company. I might not be a good…date…companion. But I can learn."

She smiled softly, and placed her other hand above his. "I know that, too. I don't mind. I really do like you, Kimimaro-san."

He smiled back, a shy, slightly wider smile than all his previous ones. "I like you as well."

"Glad to hear it. Because I'd honestly thought I'd screwed things up back then." He shook his head, and she understood. It hadn't been shock at how wrong she'd been he'd shown, but shock at how _right_ she'd analysed him, at how much she'd known him. All in all, her breakaway was turning to be more than interesting. Mesmerizing, stunning, captivating, and damn good kisser.

Things were looking good. At last, things were looking good. Finally.


End file.
